ariadne stitchman (levied) wrote in colosseum, @ 2014-02-16 11:51:00 |
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She needed to breathe. Factory accidents happened all the time. She had seen other people deal with death. She had seen it on the television. Faceless kids died every year in the Games, she knew some were from her District, and she saw some of them walk past her to the stage. It was just different. The anger and confusion didn't fade. Something new always came up, someone else to blame. She kept looking over her shoulder, like maybe she'd see one of her three allies. Or maybe the Gamemakers could just stop or pause everything for a few seconds, and they could just all go home. She wasn't used to being around people constantly for so long. She didn't consider that she was out in the open without her dagger, that people could see her. Her feet carried her further than she expected. And when she turned from looking back, she found herself in front of the House of Wax. Maybe… She didn't want to see the weird version of him. Her head lowered, she didn't even look at the tribute room before heading up the stairs. She knew what she wanted, and she crossed the room for it. The statues cast long shadows. But that was good. This was okay. She could spot intruders easily with it. She gave the spear a tug again, wincing as she tried to use the shoulder of her injured arm as leverage. Ugh, she didn't want to be this awful against a wax statue. After heaving a sigh, she planted a foot against the statue to yank it. Still nothing. "Okay…" Her brow crinkled in confusion. So they never had a wax museum back home, but she wasn't sure if it should be this hard. At the same time, candles did get rather heavy, and she probably couldn't even pull the wick out of a cold one. With another sigh, she reached down to pull out her corn dog stick and raised it to start chipping at the fingers holding onto the spear. Somewhere inside the wax statue, a gear kicked into life and began to crank. Lubricated joints covered by the tattered tribute uniform from the 51st Hunger Games warmed. A mechanical whirr was just audible under layers of wax -- layers of wax that made up the 6'1 statue of victor Brutus Roach. Its face remained frozen in the sneering grimace Brutus had appropriated in the final moments of his time in the Arena. At the time, it had been a threatening visage as he'd shoved a spear through the skull of his opponent. Now, it looked annoyed with Ariadne, who had just begun to offend its knuckles with a corn dog stick shank. Slowly, the statue's head rotated so that whatever was behind its blue glass eyes could get a better look at her. The neck articulations were limited to rotation only, but pinpoints of light reflected in the eyes changed directions with a soft, clicking sound. Click. Click. Click. Ariadne's brow had relaxed, though she pressed her lips together as she tried to work diligently, despite making little progress. Except there was a noise indicating otherwise. Although she was too busy trying to chip to notice the facial changes, she didn't miss the noises coming from the statue. She looked confused again, and a little weirded out. Wax didn't make clicking noises, and it wasn't coming from the fingers. She thought she knew what it was. And why. And since she first stepped foot into this room, she half-expected it to happen while they were asleep. But that was weird. So it couldn't be. Right? Her throat dropped. She suddenly looked very, very small and scared as her shoulders drooped and drew inwards, and she hesitantly lifted her head. In the dying light of the day, she could see the differences in the statue. She let go of his hands but kept her stick, slowly backing away towards the door. Both her hands were held out in front of her. "Ummm… I'm sorry?" The statue couldn't hear her. Its ears were full of more wax than the poorest, dirtiest children's from the Districts. In spite of that, Ariadne's apology seemed to give it the impetus to spring to life. The pock-marked hand at which she'd been hacking brought the spear down in one, fluid motion. Wax Brutus shifted the weapon across its body, parallel to the floor, and the head swiveled again, finding Ariadne. Things were quiet for a moment - just the hum of internal mechanisms and the small girl's footsteps - and then, the statue advanced. It lunged forward with long strides, intent on driving her back into the wall with the shaft of the spear. Ariadne screamed, scrambling for the door, but the statue was coming at her from an angle that prevented that. And the door slammed shut. She tried to duck behind another victor, grabbing onto her to shield herself, but let go almost immediately after what just happened. "Stop, please stop," she started babbling, her face crumpling before the statue even touched her. Her heel hit the wall, and she pressed herself against it. "I won't come back, I swear I won't come back. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." She didn't even consider begging the Gamemakers or that anyone else might be listening. She was trying to convince the statue to leave her alone. The real Brutus wouldn't have cared how sorry Ariadne was and the wax statue had even less sympathy. It lowered its arms and shoved the wooden spear against her chest, pushing her back so she couldn't move. One arm pinned her tightly so there was no possibility of her wriggling away. The other released its grip on the spear. Cool, wax fingers reached out as she babbled and begged, clapping over her mouth. The hand pressed forward until the back of her head was tight against the wall. Her voice was muffled, and she stopped talking and started crying when her head touched the wall. Her arm throbbed. She didn't want to die. Even in training, she had been bad at moving her feet, and she kept giving away tells. The tears stopped for a second and her face scrunched up. In pure desperation, she tried lifting her foot to kick at his leg, and struggled to stab his arm with the corn dog stick. The glorified mannequin did not so much as twitch as the girl from District 8 kicked and stabbed. It didn't notice the small burst of determination tributes sometimes got before they died. It did relent its grip against her mouth for a beat, enough to let her head fall forward. And then, with a brutality its namesake was famous for, it slammed her skull back, hard, against the wall. Her relief at his loosened grip hadn't even sank in when she hit the wall again with a cry. Her limbs went slack, leaving the stick in his arm. Ariadne stared past him, dazed. She didn't have time to react before her head was slammed against the wall again, leaving more blood, before her head slammed it again. One thud almost intermingled with the sound of the cannon going off, and her bloodied head lolled forward. The hand against Ariadne's mouth loosened its slack. Brutus' statue stepped backwards, releasing her. Ariadne crumpled to the floor, out of its field of vision, but it wasn't going to survey the damage, anyway. Footsteps thumped against the floor as it turned and walked back to its original position. The spear rose again, elbows poised in the familiar, infamous thrust that had sealed a win for District 2. Freezing between the statues of Miles Rhodes and Brutus' final victim, it was hard to distinguish any difference from its first arena reveal. Gears slowed and the mechanical whirring decrescendoed into silence. Purbecka stood tall at the center of her victors -- quiet and menacing figures in a tenebrous room. It looked almost normal. Still, if someone cared enough to closely inspect the statues, the blood flecked across Brutus' bared teeth and the sliver of a corn dog stick sticking out of his forearm were good indications that the room was something more than just creepy. |